


stars in orbit

by hoegeta



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, hnnng g ghh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26153755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoegeta/pseuds/hoegeta
Summary: He’s met his childhood friend again after five years, and he kind of doesn’t know how to handle it.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 33
Kudos: 174





	stars in orbit

**Author's Note:**

> the sexual tension between cloud and tifa in the remake why is this game so horny
> 
> stay tuned for a really gushy end note

Tifa’s pretty.

Tifa’s always been pretty. She’d always been everyone’s favorite, the girl on whom all the boys had a crush. She was cute with flowing hair, her smile shimmering gold and warm like the sun, as if all the boys were in orbit around her. Cloud never was, chose to watch her from afar. Tifa, the prettiest girl in Nibelheim. _Tifa_.

She’s still pretty. He walks, and his target is her, and he feels drowned in the ambience, here and there conversation fluttering into his ears. The residents of the slums are talking about the reactor blowing up. Of course they are.

Tifa’s outline is painted in pale, yellow light, a little girl molded into her side, her Seventh Heaven behind her. His being is flooded with serenity, and she isn’t even looking at him, but her smile makes his heart race, a million beats a minute, and he feels like maybe he’ll pass out.

“You made it,” she says. He hums. She asks about the flower, tucked into his suspender. He takes it by the stem, and he hands it to her. He doesn’t think about it.

A pretty flower for a pretty girl. Tifa smiles at him, turns her head shyly, and Cloud’s breath staggers, wondering when they grew up. Wondering when Tifa became more than just the prettiest girl in Nibelheim.

She isn’t really a girl anymore. She’s a woman. And he’s a man. And maybe he’s drawn to her, orbits around her like a lonesome planet, just like all the other boys did. She’s right here. Tifa, after five years. Where did those years go? It’s like he was asleep, and now he’s awake, melded into Tifa’s life in the slums like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.

His head hurts. Suddenly, he’s twenty-one. And Tifa’s _pretty_. Thick thighs, framed by stockings, and his eyes are drawn to the skin they leave unhidden. Then his gaze climbs up, settles onto wide hips that sway as she walks, her hair doing the same, a thick wave of black silk flowing behind her like a waterfall. And her _breasts_. God. Fuck. _Shit_.

He wonders when they grew up. The calm he’d felt from her smile flees him now, and in its place is a tension he doesn’t know how to process. A tension that makes his limbs rigid, as if he’s a toy that has been wound up taut. The slightest touch will send him reeling, coiling out of control.

Tifa’s more than pretty. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Perfect.

And he kind of doesn’t know what to do about it.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Tifa’s apartment is right next to his.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on how glad he is that he doesn’t have to pay rent. He doesn’t have time to dwell on how she doesn’t have all of his money. It’s fine, anyway. It’s her. It’s okay if she doesn’t have the money.

But his apartment is right next to hers. She’s only a few feet away, a door away, a wall away. And this fact disturbs him, leaves all of his nerves frazzled. He’d lived next door to her as a child, as well.

But it’s different now. It’s very different because they aren’t kids anymore.

Cloud settles into bed, thinking he should get some sleep. Blowing up a reactor can take a lot out of someone. But sleep does not come easily; it never does, really. He stares at the ceiling, the bed a bit bumpy and rough against his back. He won’t complain. Tifa’s bed is probably a lot softer. His mind drifts into thoughts of her, spirals and spirals until he’s floundering, drowning, and he can’t get himself back up.

Tifa. She must be going to bed right now. He wonders what her nighttime routine is. She probably brushes her teeth. Changes into pajamas. Washes her face. Does she prefer night showers or morning showers? He isn’t sure.

The answer comes to him a second later. He hears some squeaking. And then the rush of running water, beads slamming against tile. 

The walls are really, really thin. Of course they are.

Cloud turns onto his side, his gaze fixed on chipping, crackling paint. She’s taking a shower. Tifa’s taking a shower. It’s a normal thing that normal people do. People bathe. It isn’t a big deal.

But his mind is wandering. Wandering, wandering, spiraling. His chest tightens, his heartbeat catching speed. His palms become clammy. His toes begin to curl. He feels like a hormonal teenager, thinking about a girl in the shower.

He can’t help it. Tifa’s beautiful. From head to toe, Tifa’s beautiful. He wonders what she’d look like free of the confines of her clothes. The water rippling all down her back. Her hair sticking to her wet skin in dark highways. The suds of the soap clinging to her every inch. The swell of her breasts, the curve of her ass, the defined lines of her muscles, small but toned. Her skin would feel soft under the swipe of his hands, his senses going manic with her scent, floral vanilla, sweet and singing through his lungs.

Cloud turns onto his other side, and he notices a problem. In his pants.

Damn it. Fucking damn it. 

He knows he shouldn’t. His hand travels down his body, undoing his belt, unzipping his pants. He’s hard. He’s gotten hard just from the thought of her. The tension is back, wound through every single one of his nerves, his body coming alive in a restless fire. Sweat licks at his brow. He takes himself into his hand, pumps up and down, and he wonders. Wanders, spirals.

Her hand would feel nice around his cock. It’d be a bit smaller, a lot softer. The worn leather of her gloves. The calluses formed from the brunt of battle. Her thumb rubbing over the head. Maybe she’d dip down to lick at him, take him into her mouth. The thought of it has him arching his back, bucking his hips, her name tumbling off his lips like a mantra.

“ _Tifa_.”

Tifa, Tifa, Tifa, lovely Tifa, perfect Tifa. The girl every boy in Nibelheim loved.

And as he spills over his hand, coming hard to the thought of her, his body trembling, his breath quivering in his throat, he thinks that he’s one of them. He’s one of those boys.

He hopes she didn’t hear him. The walls are thin, after all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

He acts casual.

He has to. It’s not like she’ll ever know he masturbated to her last night. She can never know. He’d probably die if she did.

She tells him she wants to help him gain a reputation as a merc. She wants to help him get his name around the slums. It’s kind of her. Tifa’s too kind to him. She’s already gotten him a free apartment, got him on the reactor job for two thousand gil. She says she’s going to get him more jobs.

And as they run through the Sector Seven slums, doing this and that for random residents, changing filters, killing monsters, finding cats, he realizes that he isn’t the only one. Her name is constantly in his ears, and anyone she talks to lights up at the sight of her. _Hey, Tifa, you here for the filter? Tifa, my dear, dear girl. Come back anytime, especially if Tifa’s with you._

That last one kind of makes Cloud angry. He’d rip off that shopkeeper’s head if he could.

The world revolves around Tifa. Like she’s the sun. It’s just like it was in Nibelheim, and they’re all stars orbiting around her. His world had been stuck in place for five years, five years that ran from him and left him behind to wallow in the dust.

Now, his world is turning, because she’s in it.

“Gotta learn if you’re gonna stick around,” she tells him. She’s teaching him how to live in the slums. She asks him if he’s going to stick around a little longer. 

He thinks so. He’ll stick around, he thinks. She’s here. His world is turning again, and for some reason, she feels like home. This peace, this serenity, the golden halo of her smile, washing him in warmth, it feels like he’s home again.

(Now he kind of feels bad for staring at her ass while she was punching those monsters to death in Scrap Boulevard.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

“Most people would say something sweet right about now.”

“I’m sure they would.”

An opportunity presents itself. He takes it.

Tifa passes him a drink that’s the color of her eyes. A rich, blood red, pools of dazzling rubies that glitter at him like stars. They’re bright and big and when he’s not distracted by her curves or breasts, he’s staring at her eyes, wishes he could get hopelessly lost in them.

He holds up the drink.

“Beautiful.”

The shy smile, the little giggle, the way she runs away, it all satisfies him. Tifa’s beautiful, and he should tell her that she is. He should always remind her that she is.

Beautiful, beautiful. His gorgeous childhood friend. He still doesn’t really know how to handle it, being here in the Sector Seven slums with her. Building his reputation. Living here, working for Avalanche. Creating a life here. He said he’d stick around.

He’s here to stay, he thinks. With her. 

She comes back up, grabs herself some water, and her body language is evidence of her mood. He watches her as she slides into a stool, hunches over the bar with the glass in hand. He doesn’t like it. The downward twirl of her lips, the frown marred into her brow. He doesn’t like it, Tifa feeling trapped, feeling unhappy with the way Avalanche chooses to handle things.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Barret gives him the rest of his payment and sends him on his way. Tifa watches him go. 

It’s fine, he thinks. It’s completely fine. He didn’t need Avalanche anyway. He’s always been alone anyway. He doesn’t need them.

His world stops turning for a moment. And he doesn’t really know why.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The Jessie Job was interesting, to say the least.

He’s happy to be back at the apartment. He rests in his bed, sleep evading him, just like the night before. There’s a knock on the door, and Tifa calls out his name.

His name sounds nice on her tongue. He likes hearing it only when it comes from her.

She comes inside the room, shuts the door behind her. She’s talking, asks him if he’s thinking about leaving Midgar anytime soon. 

“Looks like this old friend of mine is in a tight spot. Long time ago I said I’d be there for her, made a promise, so...”

He’d made the promise to her, the night hanging over them, their only witness. He’d called her to the water tower. He didn’t think she’d come. But she did, in a dress that matched the sky, her eyes holding the shine of Nibelheim’s stars. He told her he was going to be a Soldier, a powerful hero, just like Sephiroth.

And she’d looked at him with the blood red pools of rubies, gave him a smile that would’ve made every boy in their town drop to the floor. She’d asked him if he’d come to save her if she was ever in trouble.

“Come on. Promise me.”

“Fine. I promise.”

And here, now, he realizes that she doesn’t quite need all that much saving. She can punch and kick a monster without hesitation; she can handle herself. 

But he _wants_ to protect her. He wants to save her, to keep her out of harm’s way. He wants to be there for her, to listen to her troubles, to support her. Because she’s Tifa. Beautiful, perfect Tifa who makes his world turn, who lights everything up like a sun. Who makes him feel like he’s at home when it feels like he’s been asleep and lost for five years.

“I’m really glad to have you back, Cloud. Really glad.”

There his heart goes again, beating harshly, rapidly, like it’ll burst right out of his chest. She says they should both get some sleep, and then she leaves, and his words to her linger in the air, delicate but still resting like a heavy weight between them.

“Goodnight, Tifa.”

He almost told her to stay. Almost.

**.**

**.**

**.**

He’s doing it again.

He doesn't know what’s wrong with him. It’s as if he gets hypnotized by her, the image of her holding his brain hostage. He goes tumbling, spiraling, because she confuses him. Tifa, his childhood friend. She isn’t a child anymore, and he isn’t, either. And he really doesn't know what to do with that fact.

The curves of her silhouette. The flowing curtain of her hair. The shape of her breasts, round and full and perfect for his hands. The way his name sounds on her tongue, tinged in the soft husk of her voice. He remembers all of it as his hand works desperately between his legs. He’s desperate. The lingering touches. The flirty words. The almosts, the tension, coiled up inside the pit of his stomach. She’s right there, right beyond the wall; and yet, she’s still so far.

Cloud strokes his cock, touches himself to the thought of her. Tifa, Tifa, _Tifa_ —

There’s a knock on the door.

“Cloud?”

He scrambles to cover himself up with the blanket. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, breathing hard, trying to catch his wits. Should he pretend to be asleep?

“I know you’re awake.”

Fuck.

“Come in.”

Tifa walks into the room, closes the door behind her. Gone are her normal tank top and leather skirt; she’s swathed in a t-shirt thrice her size, in shorts that barely cover her backside. Her hair is tossed into a loose ponytail. 

She isn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples are hard and poking through the fabric of her shirt.

 _Fuck_. His cock twitches.

“I heard what you were doing.”

His heart drops like a boulder in his stomach.

“The walls are really thin,” Tifa laughs.

Yeah. Yeah they are.

“S—sorry,” he says, because what else is he supposed to say? He thinks he should crawl into a hole and die. “I—”

“I can help you, if you’d like.”

Huh. What? _What_?

She sits on the bed, a pale red flush painted onto her cheeks. Cloud really doesn’t know how to handle this, beautiful Tifa sitting next to him, her hands inching closer to him. They pull off the blanket, settle onto his thighs as she looks at his cock, hard and leaking against his stomach. She looks up at him, and something stirs inside of him, comes alive in a raging fire, seeing those blood rubies, drenched in lust.

“Can I?”

She’s shy. Her voice is quiet, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. He nods.

“Y—yeah.”

Tifa takes him into her hand, and it’s exactly like he imagined. Her skin is soft, warm, her fingers slender but dainty around him. His breath hitches in his throat, his body melting back into his pillow as she begins to move, up and down.

“Is this good?” she asks.

“Y—yeah,” he gasps, his fingers winding around her wrist. “Just like that.”

Tifa pumps him up and down, her grip getting a bit tighter. Her thumb swipes over the head of him, catching the bead of precum, and he can’t take it. Can’t handle her, her touch, her eyes as she looks at him, pleasures him. It’s something he’s only ever fantasized about, and he can’t believe it’s a reality now. Tifa, his childhood friend, touching him like this.

Friends don’t really do this, do they?

“Tifa,” he moans, his head falling against the headboard. His thighs begin to tremble, the tension inside of him building with each stroke. “Tifa, _fuck_.”

She adds her other hand, moves them both up and down his shaft. She bends a bit, darts out her tongue and licks at the head of him, and he jolts, his thighs trembling even harder.

“You liked that?”

He liked it so much he’s not even able to form coherent words.

“I haven’t done this before,” she says. She takes the head into her mouth, and he very nearly goes insane. It’s better than he could have ever imagined, Tifa’s tongue, hot and wet as it lays against the underside of his cock. Her eyes, wide and sparkling as she takes him further into her mouth. Her hands stay at the base of him, and his fingers curl around her ponytail. It doesn’t take long for him to come, spilling down her throat. He chants her name, feels his world dissolving around him as the pleasure sings through his veins, holds his body captive. It lets go, and she lets go, his cum dripping out of her mouth in a stream, staining her lips.

When he can think again, he splutters, “S—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, her tongue licking at the cum. “I liked it.”

Wow. Fuck. _Wow_.

She comes forward, and she kisses him. It’s tentative, barely a touch, and he finds himself greedy. Greedy for her, her touch, her body, shuddering and writhing under him. He kisses her a bit harder, her mouth sweet against his, sweet and tasting like happiness, like home, like his world, like everything that she is. His tongue pokes at the seam of her lips, and she allows him entry, lets him roam. His hand is molded against the back of her neck as he pulls her closer, goes in deeper. His other hand comes over her breast, twirls her hard nipple between his fingers, liking the way she hums against his mouth.

“Cloud,” she whimpers. “Touch me. Please.”

He pulls back, stares at her for a bit, her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks. His hand skates down her body, goes between her legs, feels the dampness of the fabric there. She isn’t wearing panties. He feels the outline of her lower lips, aroused and ready for him. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, brings them down and out of the way. She lays back on her elbows, spreading her legs wide. She avoids his eyes, her gaze trained on the wall, and he thinks she looks so cute like this. Shy, nervous, flushed, needy, her nipples hard, her body splayed out before him. She’s wet, terribly so, her arousal seeping out of her. He’s never done this before, has only ever dreamed of doing this to her. His fingers prod at her lips, and she mewls, her toes curling.

“H—here,” she stammers, taking his hand and bringing it up. She places his fingers on her clit, and the nub is hard, begging for his touch. He obliges, rubbing at it with the tip of his index finger. She likes it, he thinks. She moans, her lips parted, her eyes on him as her hand cups her breast. “A little faster.”

He obliges. He rubs at it faster, his free hand keeping her thigh in place. Cloud touches her clit, gets harder and quicker, and Tifa begins rolling her hips in time with his movements, her body getting restless, her hands bunching into the sheet beneath her.

He dips down, taking away his fingers and replacing them with his tongue. Tifa cries out his name, and he’s pretty sure Marco heard it. The thought is fleeting, leaves him as quick as it came. Tifa’s clit is in his mouth, and he licks at it, and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but it’s something right, because she tangles her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

“P—please,” she pants. “More. Please.”

Cloud sucks on her clit, hard and fast, and she tastes nice, he thinks. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this, pleasing her, the way she grinds herself against his tongue. He’s hard again, the pleasure pooling in the pit of his stomach. Tifa, beautiful Tifa, spread out before him, going manic with his touch and his alone.

It’s too good to be true, almost.

“Cloud!” Tifa fidgets, her thighs trembling, and he holds her down as she unravels, her mouth caught around his name. He licks at her as she comes, stringing out her high as far as it’ll go. He only pulls away when she recoils from him, her body falling limp on the bed. She’s made a mess on his sheets, but it’s not like he cares.

He just did that. With _Tifa_. His childhood friend.

Friends _really_ aren’t supposed to do _that_.

“That was...” Tifa whispers, still catching her breath.

“Yeah...” Cloud says. He grabs at his blanket, quick to cover himself. She comes towards him, kissing him tenderly, making his head spin, his senses dizzy and frazzled in her scent. When she pulls back, he stares. Dumbly, his jaw slack, wondering if he really just did all of that with her. With _Tifa_.

He did, didn’t he? She’s beautiful, achingly so in the afterglow of her orgasm, hair spilling out of her ponytail and tickling at her jaw. She crawls under the blanket, settles onto the pillow, and he does as well, his heartbeat quickening, his toes curling, his breath staggering. Tifa, in his bed. Tifa. _Tifa_.

“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice small, her body swallowed by the blanket. Her skin is touched by the moon’s silver fingers, the tops of her cheeks still bright in red. Slowly, unsurely, softly, he brings his palm to her face, cupping her cheek.

“Y—yeah,” he says.

Because his world is turning again. Orbiting around her like she’s his sun. Tifa’s his sun, his light, his peace, his home. Warmth and safety when he had nothing. His memories of her in Nibelheim are sacred, tucked away within a small piece of his heart.

And he tucks this moment away as well, Tifa lying next to him, smiling softly, starlight flooded in her eyes. He lets every inch of her sink into his mind, submerged, never to be forgotten.

Friends really don’t do things like this. But it’s okay, he thinks. It’s okay.

He lied to Marle. They’re a _little_ more than friends, actually.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Author's Note:**

> not to be like corny or whatever but……im really grateful for all the endless support and kindness from you guys. the cloti community is literally the best ever; I cant get over how sweet all of you are. ive been going through a really rough time for the past few months and just sharing my writing and interacting with you all makes me really really happy. so thank you!!! I know im not the best writer but it means the world to me that you guys enjoy my work. I love you 🥺❤❤❤


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